


Drunks and Fools (In Love)

by Helianthus21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Castiel, Drunk confessions, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Castiel, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helianthus21/pseuds/Helianthus21
Summary: Dean and Cas have "an arrangement of mutual benefit that does not extend to outside the bedroom". Dean flirts with someone else. On an unrelated note, Cas drinks a pub, or several.





	Drunks and Fools (In Love)

Cas isn’t normally a drunkard. At all. Only when circumstances really demand it that he must become, as they say, ‘wasted’, and he seeks to apply the distraction methods Dean taught him to forget about how awful he’s feeling for a while.

Like right now, watching Dean flirt with the pretty lady with the long legs and sultry smirk. Cas knows she has long legs and a sultry smirk because that’s what caught Dean’s attention. She’s also blonde and approachable, with her hearty, infectious laughter and she’s basically everything Cas is not. Only natural that Dean feels drawn to her. 

“I’ll kick his ass, just say the word,” A voice somewhere at Castiel’s periphery interrupts his brooding observations. A quick look to the side confirms the speaker’s identity as Sam faster than Cas’ brain cells are situationally able to, but it also results in making his head swim unpleasantly. He frowns. 

“Whose ass?”

Sam cants his head into the direction of his brother who is still in deep conversation with Long Legs. Must be very interesting, what she has to say.  
Cas shakes off this train of thoughts and decides to answer Sam instead. Which isn’t easier since he has not much of a clue what he’s talking about. “Why would I want you to 'kick’ his 'ass’?” 

Sam widens his eyes comically, a deliberately worn facial expression of Sam’s that aims at showing his judgmental disbelief, as Cas has come to realize after all the years of spending time with him and the corresponding attempts at categorizing his moods.

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe because you two are dating?”

Cas turns back to the depths of his glass, but it’s empty again, so he gestures to the bartender for a refill. “We’re not 'dating’,” he clarifies. “We have an arrangement of mutual benefit that does not extend to outside the bedroom.” The bartender is taking an irritatingly long time. Cas taps his fingers on the bar top, decidedly ignoring the mix of male and female giggling that comes from near the pool table. “Dean can do whatever he wants.”

And this is when his new drink finally arrives in front of him, allowing Cas to wash those words away, along with the irksome _feelings_ that cling to them. 

“Last one for you,” warns the bartender, making Cas scowl at him reproachfully. “You’ve been drinking more in the last hour than our town drunk does on a whole day. Trust me, no more.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas already makes up his mind to leave this stupid place after downing this drink, and continuing at another venue.  
“You know, it’s okay if you feel hurt anyway,” says Sam, and really, his voice is starting to sound so grating again.

Cas shakes his head. “Not hurt at all!” he assures.

“Sure, I can see you not-caring all over the pub’s shrinking stock of booze,” Sam huffs at him. “Cas, you never drink.”

“I do if I want to!” Cas grouses. Then he downs the last glass he’ll get in this pub and slides from his stool as gracefully as he can. He spares no glance towards Dean and Long Legs, but shoots Sam one last daring look before he blips out of this boring establishment. 

Next stop: Miami. 

***

It was late when they drove back home to the Bunker and Dean was so looking forward to his bed that he didn’t even crack jokes in reply to Sam’s prodding. Yes, he hadn’t gone with Gina when she’d made obvious advances and even straight-up asked him if she wanted to “come up for a coffee”, but that was just because he didn’t feel like it.

Because contrary to popular belief, Dean’s not a complete horndog 24/7. 

The cheerful spirits his innocent little flirt had put him into have vanished completely after Sam’s running commentary about his “promiscuous ass”, and Cas wasn’t anywhere to be seen either since they left the bar. Looks like it’s gonna be another night of the guessing game as to whether the idiot’ll be back in the morning or if he’ll be god-probably-doesn’t-know-either-where.

Half-blindly from the exhaustion that seeps into his bones at the thought, Dean wanders his way through the hall towards his bedroom. When he closes the door, a staggering shape in the darkness almost makes Dean draw his gun. But he realizes quickly enough who that shape is, Dean would recognize it anywhere, that one-of-a-kind smell that reminds so much of the raw energy of the elements that clearly shouldn’t be perceivable in the form of smells but - how else to describe it? 

And for the first few seconds after his heart informs him that _“Cas!_ ”, he just enjoys this lightness and the smile seeing his friend puts on his face. That stupid weight that’s been dragging him downim during Cas’ absence is shoved far away for now, letting him breathe a little easier. 

Then, his mouth decides to translate the relieve at seeing Cas whole and well in his room into the petulant question, _“Where the hell have you been?”_

“Away,” Cas grouches back, stumbling forward a few steps, and instinctively, Dean meets him in the middle to catch him. Up close like this, he can smell another note in the Eau-de-Cas that he hasn’t recognized before, kind of sweeter and a little like… 

Dean scrunches up his nose. “What the fuck have you been drinkin’?” he asks, because Cas smells like a whole goddamn liquor store. 

“Alcohol,” Cas provides helpfully, and then, “Lots of it,” like Dean couldn’t have guessed.

“But _why_?” If drinking is the next bad habit Cas picks up from him, Dean might have to turn himself in. 

To Hell.

Cas just shrugs exaggeratedly. “Felt like it.” And then he looks behind Dean like there’s anything to see there besides a closed door. “Did you, uh, 'grow some tail’?” 

“Did I what now?” Dean almost actually turns to check – hey, stranger things have happened – but then it dawns on him that Cas is still a weirdo, even after all these years. “You mean 'chase tail’?” He chuckles. “Nah, didn’t get lucky today, I guess.” It’s a lie that he doesn’t know why he tells but not like Cas is in any shape for an adult conversation right now anyway. 

Cas himself hasn’t gotten that memo yet, though, it seems, because with one clumsy move he presses himself closer to Dean, snakes his arms around his waist and _pinches_. 

Dean gives a jump and yelps indignantly. “Whoa there, cowboy, hold your horses!” 

But Cas doesn’t seem in the mood to listen. “I can give you… tail,” he says, testing the turn of phrase skeptically, and it makes Dean laugh. 

“Yeah, I know you can,” he assures, “Just not now, champ. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” 

Ironically, it’s exactly what drunk Cas has in that drunk mind of his too, so he goes willingly where Dean pushes. Once they reach the bed, he suddenly flips them around so it’s Dean’s knees that hit the edge of the mattress. Cas follows, letting himself fall onto the hunter’s chest and stays there like Dean’s the world’s most comfortable human cushion. 

“I can give you that, y'know?” Cas blurts nearly incoherently, so Dean has to pay extra attention to catch every word. 

“What?” Dean can only ask, because drunk Cas turns out to be even more complicated than regular, sober Cas. 

In answer, he gets a not less cryptic, “I can be that for you,” before Cas lifts his head a few inches so his big puppy eyes can look right into Dean’s and _god_ , why do they always seem to be a different shade of agonizing blue? 

“Tell me, Dean, and I’ll change. I can be like _her_. I can be what you want, just tell me _how_.”

And that – that punches the breath out of Dean’s lungs. More than Cas landing on his chest with his full weight. More than that wendigo did last week, when it flung Dean against a cave wall. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

He doesn’t know for a tormenting few minutes during which Cas’ eyes are still trained firmly on him, waiting for an answer like it’s the most important question in the universe how Cas can change his personality to be more pleasing for Dean and _Jesus_. 

“Why the fuck are you asking me this?” Dean lets out, desperately browsing through his memories of the two of them screwing that would explain any of this – because it had never been anything more than that, at least according to the lie Dean had fed them both in order not to disturb that fragile friendship they’ve build together because if he lost _that_ of all things, after everything… Well, he just _couldn’t_. 

So when have Dean’s stupid girly, one-sided feelings become Cas’ problem too?

When Cas makes to open his mouth to explain, Dean cuts in before he can and says, much more gently to make up for the gruff, panicked tone from earlier, _“Cas,”_ and he maneuvers them farther onto the bed, attempting for a more comfortable cuddle arrangement, letting his fingers card through the angel’s tousled hair. “You have no _idea_.” 

It’s not an ideal thing to say, because it makes Cas restless again. He tries to squirm out of Dean’s embrace before he decides he wants closer and not away, and then just buries his nose in Dean’s shirt, fussing into it because apparently he’s reached the stage of whiny drunk. Which would be cute, if it wouldn’t threaten to break Dean’s heart. “Please, Dean,” he lets out, a pitiful sound. “I can do that for you too, you don’t need to look for uh, these women or, well, men, in these bars or diners, I can-”

“Cas!” Dean interrupts, and despite himself, he laughs. “You were jealous?” 

That seems to pull Cas out of his pleading spell. Remembering to feign indifference, he huffs, and rolls off of Dean, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Noooo!” He drawls.

Dean grins. “You so were!”

“Was not!”

“Her name was Gina by the way.” 

“Ugh, I hate her.”

“That’s a lie, you love everyone, you big ol’ hippie.” 

“I don’t love _you_ ,” Cas argues pitifully, not even bothering to try and put real authenticity into his tone. The way his thighs are still pressed close to Dean’s even as he tries to play butthurt betrays his lie.

Dean dips his chin to hide his grin against his chest. Leave it to Cas to confess his feelings by saying the opposite. 

Deeming the situation sufficiently diffused, Dean dares to drag Cas back against him (Cas lets him) and tucks his chin over the other man’s head. “You probably won’t remember this once you’re sobered up, but dude, I hope you’ll appreciate the irony one day, because you-” He presses a soft kiss into Cas’ hair. “Are exactly what I want, buddy.” 

“Hmmmm,” murmurs Cas. He sounds sleepy, or as sleepy as an angel can get. Dean wonders if his attention span is still big enough that he’s listening. 

Some people give themselves liquid courage, but a drunk Cas is apparently out to sell himself at less than fair value, Dean ponders. He’s gonna have to set that right. Tomorrow, he tells himself again, rubbing soft little circles into the back of Cas’ neck until he falls asleep.

“We gotta talk about this tomorrow.” Dean says it like a promise.

“T'morrow,” Cas agrees, voice muffled against Dean’s shirt. 

Dean didn’t even get to change into his pajamas, before he got attacked by Mr Blanket-in-Angel-Form. Surrounded by Cas’ warmth, he doesn’t much care.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is supposed to be a reference to the saying "children and fools always tell the truth", though I know it as "children, drunks and fools" but that would've been too long..


End file.
